Somewhere the Lights Dim and Go Out
by 25 to Life
Summary: Alzheimer's is a terrible disease, especially when it infects the mind of Sherlock Holmes. (Established relationship. Warnings: Major character death)


It started with small things. He'd forget to turn the stove off or leave the door unlocked. Things, that if John really thought about it, weren't completely out of character for Sherlock. If he was on a case many things slipped Sherlock's mind, like eating or sleeping. However, it was when he became forgetful off a case that John started to take notice. Of course it was hard to tell what information was truly forgotten or just deleted.

It was when Sherlock started to forget names and locations that John began to get concerned. He tried to get Sherlock to see a specialist, but Sherlock refused, even causing a fight once. He refused to admit anything was wrong, he was fine.

One day when John arrived home from the surgery, he found the flat covered with post-its. Now at first glance this didn't seem odd, Sherlock was always making case notes and putting them up all over the flat, but upon closer inspection worry starting to creep into John. He took the note stuck to his chair, it read 'John's chair'. He took another off the fireplace, it read, 'fireplace'. In the kitchen all the appliances were labeled. John moved into the bed room to find Sherlock sitting on the floor surrounded by post-its and scraps of paper.

"Sherlock? What are you doing?"

"An experiment."

"An experiment for what exactly?"

Sherlock looked up at john with panicked eyes, "I think something's wrong with me."

John sat down on the floor next to Sherlock, "What do you think is wrong?"

"My mind, I..." he paused. It was too terrible to voice.

"You're forgetting things." Sherlock nodded. "What happened" John asked.

"I, I couldn't remember how to get home. I wandered around for an hour before I ran into..." Sherlock stopped and started moving the scraps of paper and post-its around. When he found the one he was looking for he read it aloud. "I ran into Lestrade, and he gave me a lift home."

John just stared at Sherlock for a moment. How could this be? How could one of, no, THE greatest mind of our time forget who took him home, let alone not remember how to get there?

Sherlock's voice broke the silence, "What's wrong with me, John?"

"I don't know, Sherlock, but we'll figure this out. I promise."

The next day found them in the neuro-specialist's office, an old school friend of John's who had been able to get them in right away. Sherlock had undergone every test and scan there was and now they were waiting for the results.

"Well, Sherlock, the good news is all the scans were clean. No tumors or anything of that nature."

Sherlock burst out, "Then what's wrong with me?!"

"Sherlock, just let him finish." John took Sherlock's hand and gave it a squeeze.

"From the tests I had you complete and from what you've told me, I believe, Sherlock, that you have early onset Alzheimer's."

Sherlock and John just stared at the doctor for a moment as it sunk in.

"What?!" Sherlock shouted, "Is this some kind of cruel joke?"

"I'm afraid not, Sherlock."

"But this is ridiculous! I can't, I, I just can't!" Sherlock got up and stormed out or the room.

John stood and thanked his friend before following after Sherlock.

John found Sherlock outside sitting on the side of the fountain, head in his hands.

"Sherlock?" John spoke softly and sat down next to him. "Are you alright?"

Sherlock looked up and glared at John before looking away again.

"Right" said John, "Point taken." John reached over and laid his hand on Sherlocks knee. Sherlock moved away from the touch. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what, John? The fact that I'm going to lose the one thing that defines me, that I'm going to forget the people in my life, forget you! The fact that I already don't remember the names of things or how to get places or the fact that I'll forget how to use my body, forget basic functions like walking or speaking or going to the bathroom! Is that what you want to talk about? Or how about this, how about the fact that my body will slowly shut down and die. Should we talk about that?" Sherlock's rant came to an end.

John stood and walked over to Sherlock, taking him in his arms and held him tight. "Yes, I want to talk about all of that. I'm here, Sherlock, and I'm not going anywhere. So stop trying to chase me off."

Sherlock sighed, "That obvious?"

"Just a bit." John smiled weakly.

"What am I going to do John? My mind is my life."

"I don't have the answers yet, Sherlock, but I promise whatever happens I'll be here to go through it with you."

In the coming months John helped Sherlock as much as he could. The post its were a permanent fixture in their flat now and John had convinced Sherlock, despite his many protests, to start a journal of what he did every day.

John covered for Sherlock when they were on a case, no one at the Yard suspected, and John wanted to keep it like that for as long as possible. The cases helped keep his mind going and if Sherlock lost the cases things would get worse fast. John knew eventually he wouldn't be able to cover for him, but for now it was working, and over the next few years things stayed fairly stable with little decline and still no one was the wise. That was until Lestrade paid them a surprise visit.

Lestrade arrived at the flat one after noon. He had begun to notice Sherlock's strange behavior. He had been let in by Mrs. Hudson on her way out and made his way up to John and Sherlock's flat. The first thing that hit him was of course the flat covered in post-its. "John? What the hell is all this?"

John, who hadn't heard Lestrade come in jumped. "Greg! What umm," John stood from his computer and wiped his hands nervously on his trousers, "What are you doing here?"

"Never mind that, what's with all the notes?"

John hesitated. "Well, umm, you see..."

Just then Sherlock came out of the bedroom, "John, have you seen my light up?"

John shifted his attention to Sherlock, "Sorry, what was that?"

Sherlock sighed in annoyance, "My light up."

"Oh, yes, it's on the couch there."

Sherlock made his way to the couch and picked up the laptop. He turned and saw Lestrade for the first time. He froze for a moment before frowning and in a raised voice spoke, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Lestrade was stunned. Sherlock had never been upset to see him visit, because it always meant a case. "Well I..."

"Never mind. "Sherlock interrupted, "Just get out." And stormed off into the bedroom again.

John motioned for Lestrade to wait a moment as he followed Sherlock into the bedroom.

Sherlock turned on John, "Did you invite him here?"

"No, of course not. You know I would never do that to you."

"Then what did he come for? I thought you told him not to show up unannounced anymore."

"I did, I don't know why he's here. I didn't get a chance to find out before you came out."

"Well, get rid of him."

"Sherlock, I think we need to consider it's time to tell him."

"NO! You will not. He'll stop giving me cases and you know how working helps me. I couldn't stand to not use what mind I have left!"

"I know but he knows now that something isn't right, if he didn't before coming here. I think we have to admit the time has come Sherlock."

Sherlock just sat on the bed not looking at John. "I don't want him to know, John." He sounded so defeated.

"I know Sherlock, but I think he needs to." John left Sherlock and went back out into the living room to find Lestrade reading notes. Lestrade looked up at him. "Come on, Greg. We need to talk, but not here."

John led Lestrade to the neighborhood pub and ordered them a couple of drinks.

"So what's going on John. I've noticed Sherlock has been off and now I come to you flat and find every bloody thing labeled. And what the hell was he talking about a light up?"

John sighed, "Sherlock has Alzheimer's. A light up is the laptop."

Lestrade was speechless, "Alzheimer's? But he like 48 years old!"

"It's early on set. He was diagnosed a few years ago."

"A few years! You mean he's been working on cases for us all this time and he's been sick? You've been covering for him haven't you."

John nodded. "Bloody hell John. This is bad, you know that. If anyone ever knew that he had been working with us with compromised faculties they would have a fit! You know I can't let him work on any more cases with us right?" John nodded again. "I also don't think you should take on any of your own."

They sat quiet for a while. Finally Lestrade spoke. "Is there no treatment for it?"

"There are things that can slow it a bit but nothing can cure it."

"So what will happen?"

"Eventually he will forget the people around him. You, me, Mycroft. He'll forget what things are, which he's already starting to do. At some point he will forget who he is and then his body will start to shut down. He'll forget how to walk or speak or feed himself. He'll need round the clock care, and finally he'll die."

"Jesus. How fast will all that happen?"

"It's hard to say. Some people live a long time in the final stages of the disease and others progress quickly."

"Man I'm sorry. How is Sherlock holding up?"

"He's holding. He gets frustrated when he can't find the words or can't remember something he knows he should be able to. He has a journal of what he does in the day because sometimes he forgets if he went out somewhere, or who he's seen that day or even if he's eaten. So far he still knows those closest to him, though sometimes he has a hard time with the names, but he knows the faces."

"And how are you holding up?"

"I'm doing fine. You learn little tricks to help. Learn what things mean to him. We've actually been working pretty well as a team."

"I'll say, I had no clue anything was amiss until just recently."

"Do me a favor, Greg, don't let it around. I don't want everyone to know just yet. I want to preserve his dignity for as long as I can. I understand you can't let us help out anymore but everyone else doesn't need to know why."

"Not a problem, John. As far as anyone else is concerned you two simply don't wish to do it anymore. Too many of your own cases."

"Thanks, Greg."

John returned to the flat to find Sherlock on the couch typing away.

"Well?" Asked Sherlock not looking up from his laptop.

"He's not going to let us help on any more cases." Sherlock stopped typing and let out a breath. "But he's not going to tell anyone why. He also recommended that we stop taking cases of our own, and I think he's right, Sherlock."

Sherlock's head snapped up locking eyes with John. "What? Why? We're doing fine!"

"No, we aren't Sherlock. It's getting harder and harder for me to help you."

"I can't stop, John. I'll lose what I have left!"

John moved to sit next to Sherlock and put a hand on his knee. "We can find other ways to keep your mind active, but I'm afraid, Sherlock, you can't be a detective anymore."

The words hung heavy in the air. Sherlock didn't move, didn't speak for the longest time. Just sat staring at his computer.

"Sherlock?" John finally broke the silence.

"What will I do if I can't, if I can't..." Sherlock whispered

"We'll find something, I promise."

John's solution was to take Sherlock out and have him practice his deductions on people walking about the city, asking Sherlock to tell him everything he could about the person and for a while it worked. Sherlock was still able to see what ordinary people miss, with the occasional issue with word finding.

After a year of this things started to decline rapidly. John returned home one night and greeted Sherlock as usual. Sherlock turned and yelled, "Who are you! Get out of my flat!"

"Sherlock, it's me. It's John."

"I don't know a John. Get out or I'm calling the police!"

"Sherlock, please. It's me, John."

"I gave you the chance to leave now I'm calling." Sherlock picked up his phone and dialed Lestrade. "Lestrade, there is a man in my flat and he refuses to leave. I don't know who he is, he just came in and assaulted me. Right." Sherlock hung up the phone. "Police are one their way."

"Sherlock..." John stopped and sighed. He decided the best thing was to wait for Lestrade.

10 minutes later Lestrade was standing in their living room. "Ok Sherlock where is this intruder?"

"There." Sherlock pointed at John. "Arrest him."

Lestrade looked at John in confusion. "Sherlock, that's John. He lives here with you."

"I live alone."

"No, you don't Sherlock. John lives here too."

Sherlock looked John over. "I think I'd remember moving in with someone."

"Here." said John, and he removed a photo from the mantel. "See, this is us, on our fifth anniversary."

"Anniversary?"

"Yes." John grabbed another photo. "This is us at our wedding. I'm your husband, Sherlock."

"Husband? No, this can't be. I'd remember a thing like this."

"Sherlock you have Alzheimer's. You're memory isn't as good as it was."

Sherlock sat down on the couch. How could this be? "This can't be real."

"I'll ah, I'll leave you to it then." And Lestrade left.

John sat next to Sherlock. "I'm so sorry, love, but it is. You were diagnosed 4 years ago."

"How long have we been married?"

"Ten years come with July."

"And how long have we shared this flat?"

"Fourteen years. We've been together twelve of those years."

"How can I not remember fourteen years?"

"It's a part of the disease."

"How do you still live with me?"

John chuckled at that. "We have good days, and bad days, but we manage."

"I guess this is a bad day?"

"Not one of the better ones, no."

"I think. I think I'm going to bed. I'm really tired all of a sudden."

"I think that's a good idea." John got up and walked with Sherlock to their bedroom.

"I guess, you sleep here too?"

"Yes, but if you prefer, tonight I'll sleep in my old room."

Sherlock nodded. "I'm sorry I just..."

"It's all fine, Sherlock. Don't worry, I understand. Good night."

John left Sherlock and made his way to his old room.

The following morning, Sherlock woke to find John's side of the bed not slept in. He got up and made his way to the kitchen where John was making tea."

"Good morning. Want a cup?"

Sherlock nodded. "You didn't come to bed last night."

"I slept in my old room."

Sherlock frowned. "Did we have a fight?"

"No. You, you didn't know who I was last night. Thought I was an intruder and called Greg to arrest me."

"I did what?!" Sherlock stood shocked. "It's never gotten that bad before."

"I know."

Sherlock went to John and took him in his arms. "How could I forget you?"

John held Sherlock tighter, "It's not your fault. We knew this day would come. We'll just have to deal with things as they happen. You remember me again this morning, so that's a good thing."

"But, I don't want to forget you."

"I know."

From then on things started to go downhill fast it seemed. There were more days where Sherlock didn't know who people were. On a few occasions he had gone out and not returned causing John to go out looking for him, finding that Sherlock didn't know where he was or where he was going. Once he forgot the stove was on and burned his hand on the element. John spent the evening bandaging it up as Sherlock refused to go to the hospital.

John started to fear leaving Sherlock alone, even to go to work. He asked Mrs. Hudson to call him if anything happened or if Sherlock went out, while he was working.

There were days when Sherlock would get irrationally angry with John for various reason. One time it was because he had come home late, another time it was because John hadn't done the shopping yet, and on numerous occasions it was because John was still working when he couldn't.

John took everything in stride. There were still good days. Days when Sherlock knew everything and was happy. Those were the days John lived for now. When things got rough, he'd call up Greg and go for a pint to get things off his chest. He didn't blame Sherlock, this wasn't his fault, but still things got to him.

Two years later, John came home to find Sherlock waiting with suit cases packed next to him. "Going somewhere?"

"I can't live here anymore, John."

"What do you mean?"

"Things are too bad now. It isn't fair to you to make you take care of me like this, and I'm only going to get worse. I love you and I don't want to burden you like this anymore."

"Sherlock, you are not a burden. We've been doing fine."

"John, you have Mrs. Hudson check on me five times a day just to make sure I haven't gone wandering off, or injured myself because I forgot to turn the stove off, or God forbid I try doing an experiment. I'm a danger to myself and to you. I have to go."

"Where will you go?"

"Mycroft, he found a place where people with this disease live. A care home."

"Jesus, Sherlock. You don't need that yet!"

"I do John. I know you don't want to admit it, because you don't want to let me go, but I do need it, and you'll see that it's for the best." Sherlock hugged John. "You can visit me all the time, in fact, you better." Sherlock smiled. "Don't be sad, please. I couldn't bare it."

John nodded. "Can I come with you?"

"I would like that." And they left for the Home.

Sherlock settled in as well as could be expected and John came by nearly every day. Things got worse much faster than John had thought they would. There were longer stretches when Sherlock didn't know who he was again. However this time he wasn't upset to see him. He was, in fact, glad of the company of someone with a brain, as Sherlock put it. The only things that seemed to distress him was the fact that he was surrounded by idiots and ill people, which he clearly wasn't.

On a few occasions Sherlock had begged him to take him home, not knowing who John was but trusting him. He was greatly upset when John would tell him he lived here now and that he couldn't take him.

But there we days when Sherlock became lucid and they had wonderful conversations. Sherlock would always ask how he was doing, and John would always lie and say he was fine, but in reality he was far from it. He missed his husband, his best friend, and it was getting harder and harder to come and see him with Sherlock not knowing who he was.

"It just seems to be happening so fast." John told the care-workers at Sherlock's care conference. "I thought we'd have more time."

"It goes like this sometimes, John. We don't know why some go faster than others, but he's doing fairly well despite the progression of the disease. He's starting to have some trouble swallowing, but we've adjusted the types of food he gets and thickened his fluids a bit, and that seems to be helping."

John sighed, thickened fluids. Sherlock would hate that if he knew. So many things Sherlock would hate if he was still himself.

John left the room and made his way to visit with Sherlock. "Hi there, love." He leaned down and kissed Sherlock on the head.

Sherlock looked up and smiled, "Hello. Do you know me?"

John nodded with a smile. "I know you very well Sherlock. I'm John."

Sherlock motioned for John to sit with him. "I think I know a John. Don't I?"

John ran his fingers through Sherlocks curls, "Yes, you do, and I'm him."

"Well that's good. I'd hate to think you were calling me love and weren't my husband."

John started a bit. "You remember me?"

"No, not really but I know my husband's name was John and if you are John, that must mean you are my husband. Right?"

"Yes, that's right." John grinned, Sherlock wasn't completely lucid but at least he remembered he was married today.

After dinner, John kissed Sherlock goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow again, love."

"Ok, thanks for visiting." Sherlock walked over toward the common room leaving John to look after him.

John remembered clearly the day he got the phone call. It was 7:30 am, it was raining and cold out, and the nurse on the other side was saying something that didn't make sense.

"What do you mean you had to take him to the hospital?"

"We believe he fell between last check and day shifts arrival. He was found on the floor and it was apparent that he had hit his head on the dresser. He was unresponsive so we called an ambulance to take him. You can meet him at the hospital."

John hung up the phone and quickly made his way to the hospital. What more could he take, first Sherlock gets this god awful disease and now he probably had a brain injury from the fall.

John had to wait 3 hours before he got any real news on how Sherlock was doing. The doctor explained that Sherlock had bleeding in the brain and that they were trying to get the swelling down. But at the moment things weren't looking good. It also appeared that sometime after the fall, Sherlock had suffered a small stroke.

John was escorted to Sherlocks room. He was hooked up to all kinds of machines, making all kinds of ominous beeping noises. Sherlock had a large bruise on his face and there was still some dried blood in his dark hair.

John sat down next to the bed and took Sherlock's hand. "Oh, my love." He sat with Sherlock all of that day and made arrangements with his work to take some time off to be with him.

Sometime in the afternoon of the second day, Sherlock woke up. "John?" His voice was coarse. "Where am I?"

John looked up from his book. "Sherlock?" John leaned forward and took his hand. "What did you ask?"

"Where am I?"

John looked at him with sad eyes.

"What?"

John sighed. "You had a fall at the home. You hit your head and you've got some bleeding in your brain. You also had a small stroke. I'm so sorry love, I don't understand you. You're words are a jumbled."

"What do you mean they're jumbled?"

John shook his head, "I don't understand."

Sherlock motioned for a piece of paper and a pen. John passed one to him. Sherlock wrote. "What do you mean they are jumbled?" and passed it back to John

John to a deep breath and read what Sherlock had written. "What for ground are under them."

Sherlock shook his head. That was NOT what he had written. John was messing with him, and it wasn't funny. "Not funny, John."

John nodded, "That I got. I'm not trying to be. That's what you wrote. The stroke or the bleeding or both has damaged the part of your brain that deals with language. Some words come through but not a lot. It's like when you couldn't remember the names of things only worse.

Sherlock lay back in his bed and closed his eyes and John could tell he was ready to give up. A lucid day and he couldn't even have a conversation with John.

Sherlock remained in the hospital for the next two weeks. It was on a day that Lestrade had come and insisted that John go home to shower and eat, saying he would stay with Sherlock until John got back, that everything finally started to come to an end.

John was barely in the flat when he got a call from Lestrade. "I'm at the flat I'm going to shower and I promise to eat, ok?"

"John, it's Sherlock."

Lestrade didn't even get out what had happened before John was out the door again and back at the hospital. "What happened?!

"He had another stroke."

John entered the room. Sherlock was now on a ventilator that was breathing for him. The doctor beckoned John over. "We had to resuscitate him, he stopped breathing and his heart stopped. We've got him on the ventilator and it's breathing for him. He won't be able to come off of it I'm afraid."

"What do you mean? He's ok now though?"

The doctor shook his head. "He won't regain consciousness and he won't breath on his own. At this point the machine is keeping him alive."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying you should think about saying your goodbyes and decide if you want to keep him on the ventilator, or take him off."

"You mean let him die!"

"He'll die eventually being on the ventilator. It's just a matter of time. The choice is how long you want to drag it out. I'll let you think about it."

The doctor left and Lestrade came in. "What did he say.?"

"He said I should say goodbye."

"What? What do you mean? He's still alive."

"Not for long. He said it's just a matter of time and that I should decide if I want to keep him on the machines."

"What are you going to do?"

"I know what Sherlock would want. He wouldn't want to go like this. He'd want to go on his own terms, but I, I don't know if I'm ready to let him go."

Lestrade laid a hand on John shoulder, "We never are, but if what the doctor said is true, then he's already gone."

John nodded, "Can you call the doctor back in?"

Lestrade went to find the doctor. "Have you made a decision?"

"Yes. Take him off the machines."

"Very well." The doctor called a nurse in to sign some papers before passed them to John to sign. "Now I want to be clear, once I take him off it may not happen right away. It may take minutes it may take hours so be prepared to wait."

"Of course." John sat in the chair next to the bed and held Sherlock's hand. He heard the beeping stop as the machines were turned off one by one. Finally the one sound left was the heart monitor still beeping out each beat, but they too were slowing.

Lestrade stayed with John, for which he was grateful. He didn't want to do this alone. An hour later the heart monitor took two last beeps and then flat lined. Sherlock, was gone. John squeezed his hand as the doctor came in to call time of death.

John looked up at Sherlock lying there, so still. He looked like he was just sleeping but there was no movement in his chest. John heard Lestrade behind him sniffling. "Thanks for staying."

"Of course, I wasn't going to leave you to do this alone." They stayed in silence for a while before Lestrade spoke again, "I can't believe he's gone."

John didn't say anything, he just leaned over and kissed Sherlock one last time.

The funeral was a small affair. John had made it clear that only close friends and family were to attend. The last thing he wanted was for it to be a spectacle splashed over every paper. His death had already made the headlines and that was more than enough.

When the service was over and John had said his goodbyes to everyone, he went back to the grave site and stood staring at the head stone. It read "The best man I ever knew."

"You really were you know, the best man. You were my best friend, the love of my life and the most brilliant man I ever knew. I'm going to miss you, your midnight violin concerts, your vile experiments, your ranting, but most of all I'm going to miss waking up next to you. You always were beautiful when you woke up. It was then I would tell myself how lucky I was to be with you. I'll love you always, Sherlock Holmes." John stood straight and saluted before laying a hand on the stone, "Goodbye, my love" and he turned and walked away.


End file.
